


forward

by crystalcities



Series: Wout + Mathieu [6]
Category: Cycling RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Denial, Infidelity, M/M, bike racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalcities/pseuds/crystalcities
Summary: 24 September 2017: Wout and Mathieu in America.





	forward

It’s late September, but the temperature was relentlessly over 30C at Waterloo, Wisconsin. Mathieu was on the trainer with headphones and an ice vest on. He saw out of the corner of his eyes that Wout was walking towards him, but he resolutely refused to look in his direction. Wout leaned against the fencing in front of him. They were silent for a minute while Mathieu continued his pedaling drills, conscious of Wout’s presence. Finally he took off his headphones and sat up.

“What do you want?”

“You decided to come to the American races after all,” Wout said.

“Yes. Every point counts,” Mathieu replied, looking down at the stem of his bike.

They fell silent again. Mathieu dropped down on his forearms over the bars. His heart rate was picking up even though he was just spinning easy.

“I hope you’re doing okay with the jet-lag,” Wout said, gently.

“I’m fine. Worry about yourself, in this heat,” Mathieu didn’t know why that made him snap.

“I’ll see you at the grid.” Wout mercifully left after this, leaving Mathieu alone to re-focus on the race.

* * *

The race went as well as Mathieu expected. Everybody was suffering with the hot temperatures. Mathieu felt good, confident in white. The previous few days in America acclimated him, and the Friday race prepared him well for the course and the heat. He attacked from the start, riding dominantly, and halfway into the first lap he’d already dropped the entire field. After that he kept extending his lead, and with two laps to go he had almost a minute and he decided to ease up a bit in the dust.

He didn’t mean to linger at the finish line for so long, but he really needed to sit and recover for a minute with the hot temperatures. He ended up staying long enough to see Wout come across the line almost a minute later, in seventh, looking wrecked. Sarah was at the finish, giving him a hug and a kiss, a picture of bliss amidst the chaos around them.

* * *

Mathieu couldn’t wait to get out of this country, back to his routine and training. There’s only a few flights a week with the right connection, and so for an extra few days he’s stuck in Madison, Wisconsin, the closest city to the race.

The weather was still unseasonably hot. Mathieu went out for about half an hour before giving up, feeling listless. Maybe he should go to the pool for a bit. He grabbed a towel and headed downstairs.

He didn’t realize his team wasn’t the only team staying in this hotel. There was already a familiar figure hanging out by the pool, sitting under an umbrella. Wout heard the gate creak open and looked up. They made eye contact for a second, and Mathieu smarted. His first reaction was to leave.

“Mathieu, how long are you going to keep on acting like this?” Wout said, accusingly, getting up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mathieu froze mid-turn. He let go of the gate, and it swung shut quietly when the spring caught it. Wout walked up to him so they’re face to face.

“I know a lot happened between us. But can’t we act like normal people around each other?”

_I don’t know how to_, Mathieu thought. “What do you want me to do?” He said, a rhetorical question.

“Just-” Wout gestured. He started to say something, but decided not to. He sighed, looked away, and went back to the deck chair he was in, putting his sunglasses back on.

Mathieu closed his eyes and breathed for a moment, trying to calm down. The heat really was oppressive. He walked to the edge of the pool, diving in head first, and stayed underwater for probably longer than he should.

Wout watched Mathieu from the opposite side of the pool. His hair was matted down over his forehead as he got out _(so fucking graceful even off the bike)_, and he ran a hand through it and brushed it back, blond strands catching the sun. His skin was flushed from the temperature difference. Wout couldn’t help staring. They’d both grown up over the last year, and Mathieu especially, his teenaged litheness giving away to a broader, more muscular, but still slender physique. Wout thought the change only seemed so stark because they’d hardly seen each other... And as much as he tried to move on, he missed Mathieu.

Wout knew he shouldn’t, but he walked around to the other side, where Mathieu was drying his hair.

“Do you want to walk around?”

“What?” Mathieu startled.

“Do you want to just... check things out? Maybe just catch up a little? You asked what I want you to do...” Wout tried again. He’s nervous.

“I-” Mathieu began, feeling conflicted. He ran through the possible responses in his head: None of the words felt right.

“You don’t have to,” Wout said, turning away.

“No- Wait. I’ll come. Let’s go.” Mathieu couldn’t do this again, not right now. He felt unsettled. Forced to the precipice, as if by instinct, he reached over and tried to stop Wout from leaving, but he stopped just short of his arm, fingers hovering in the air.

“Okay. I’ll see you at the lobby in five minutes?” Wout’s whole expression softened, and he smiled in a way that made Mathieu’s heart flutter.

* * *

They took a taxi downtown. Their interaction began awkwardly. Their driver seemed curious what’s going on, why were there so many skinny foreign cyclists swarming the city last weekend. They tried to explain what cyclocross was, finding it difficult _(you ride in circles in the dirt, no it’s not mountain biking, there are obstacles on the course)_, and that broke the ice somewhat.

Mathieu admitted the city had some charms. Sitting between two lakes, the downtown was constrained in area, giving it a somewhat intimate feel. The main drag was closed to traffic and lined with shops and restaurants. One end of it was anchored at the university, and even on a Monday afternoon the cafés were bustling with students, taking advantage of the warm weather.

Wout claimed to show him around since he’s been there last year, but he actually didn’t know anything, and they mostly just wandered around. After the Capitol building, having agreed wordlessly to ignore their history, they became more preoccupied with catching up on each other’s lives. Some they vaguely knew already, safe topics like racing, since they would both be lying if they said they didn’t pay attention to what their rival was doing. Wout felt a pang of envy when Mathieu animatedly told him about racing Nino Schurter, clearly excited about the new challenge.

Whether it’s because they’re far from home or something else they slowly felt less reticent about sharing personal details as the afternoon wore on. The connection that brought them together in the first place sparked.

Mathieu carefully asked about Sarah. He knew Wout and her were a couple, before him. He never found out what happened during their liason. Wout said they were back together, and he seemed eager to move on from the topic. Mathieu blinked a few times, falling into silence as he processed the implications.

The sun started to dip below the lake, the light refracting in the heat, lighting up the sky in brilliant colours. Wout suggested that they get dinner before they head back. Today was supposed to be a free day after the race day anyways, and their teams wouldn’t be missing them much. They picked a small restaurant on a side street with tables outside.

Some time after the waitress cleared the appetizers away and before the main courses arrived, Wout’s phone rang on the table. Mathieu couldn’t help glancing at the caller ID. It was Sarah. Wout looked at it, letting it ring, then dragged his gaze up to Mathieu, something hot in his eyes he couldn’t hide. He declined the call, still fixedly looking at Mathieu. Then he turned the phone off altogether, putting it in his pocket. When he looked up again the heated look was gone, his expression carefully neutral. Mathieu felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, although the atmosphere seemed to have changed, something suffocating in the air. They decided to walk back to the hotel afterwards. It’s much cooler in the evening. There was even a breeze along the water, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness.

* * *

Wout’s room was on the second floor, and Mathieu’s was on the first floor. The building was set up such that Wout had to walk past Mathieu’s room to get to the stairs, so it seemed natural that they both ended up in front of Mathieu’s door.

“So. Thanks for hanging out. It was nice,” Mathieu said. He fished in his pocket for his keycard, unlocking the door and opening it partway, hesitating. His throat felt dry. He glanced up at Wout. Wout was fidgeting with the threads that frayed from the edges of his pockets. Mathieu swallowed.

“Are you going to invite me inside?” Wout asked softly, finally.

Mathieu shivered, and he grabbed Wout by the wrist, striding into his room. He barely had time to shut the door before Wout was on him, pushing him up against it and kissing him. There was no finesse in it, all want and desperation, and it consumed Mathieu. Heart pounding, he squeezed his eyes shut, ignored the part of his brain screaming “no”, and instead he slid his hands up Wout’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He forced their bodies together and rubbed the whole length of it against Wout, groaning into the kiss. Wout suddenly jerked away, breathless. He fixed his gaze on Mathieu and stripped off his own t-shirt, then the rest of his clothes, throwing everything to the floor. Mathieu did the same, shakily. Then Wout stalked towards Mathieu, pulled him roughly into his arms, and walked them towards the bed.

Mathieu let himself fall backwards onto the mattress when he felt the back of his knees hit the edge. Wout crawled on top of him, placing a trail of kisses along his neck and collarbones, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises. Mathieu tilted his head back to give him room, not caring about anything now. He wrapped his legs around Wout’s waist, arching up.

“Fuck, Mathieu-” Wout whispered, then he ground hard into him. Mathieu slid his hands into Wout’s hair, pulling him close for another scalding kiss. He felt dizzy.

Mathieu reached a hand in between their sweat-slick bodies and wrapped it around Wout’s cock. His other hand roamed around Wout’s back, his fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, wanting to cause bruises and scrapes, to mark Wout as good as he did to him. He rolled his hip into Wout, desperate for friction. Wout thrusted into his fist, gasping breathlessly as he did so.

“Mathieu- you- I-” Wout moaned, stilling, eyes wide and pupils blown, trying to keep it together. He dropped a series of kisses all over Mathieu’s face and lips.

“Are you- do you- do you want to fuck me?” Mathieu whispered.

“Fuck, yes,” Wout breathed out.

“Black bag, in the bathroom,” Mathieu continued.

“Okay. Wait.” And he left Mathieu on the bed. Mathieu suddenly felt very alone for no reason.

After a minute Wout came back, and he set the items on the bed. He draped himself over Mathieu, kissing him all over. He opened a packet of lube, squeezing the contents in his hand, and reached down to pump Mathieu’s cock a few times, before traveling further back to push slick fingers into his hole shallowly. Mathieu closed his eyes at the intrusion, taking deep breaths. Wout kissed his cheeks, and the corners of his mouth, and massaged his entrance gently until he felt Mathieu relax. He kissed his mouth properly while he pushed his fingers further inside, working him open. Mathieu grasped Wout’s shoulders, breath coming quick and uneven against Wout’s lips. He bucked his hips upwards to fuck himself on Wout’s fingers soon enough.

“Come on,” Mathieu gasped, desperate.

Wout kissed him again, pulling his fingers out. Mathieu shivered at the loss of the pressure inside him. He held his breath and watched while Wout rolled on a condom and coated his cock with lube, and rubbed the remaining around Mathieu’s hole. He hitched one of Mathieu’s legs up and pushed inside him, his eyes going wide at the heat and tightness. Mathieu met his gaze, tensing involuntarily. Wout dropped his head into Mathieu’s shoulders, muffling a moan. He held Mathieu close, and started to fuck him with short, uneven strokes.

Mathieu had missed this. He felt so good, and he was so overwhelmed with how Wout felt, how he smelled, how he sounded. It might be a physical thing, but being with Wout was like being with nobody else. He dug his heel into the small of Wout’s back, urging him to go deeper, faster. He wanted to look at Wout, to see how he made him feel, wanted to know if he felt the same as he did himself, all the self-inflicted longing in the last few months culminating in an act of impulse and bad decisions that he couldn’t care less about now. He needed... more. Closer. His hand found its way into Wout’s hair, and he pulled gently.

“Wout, kiss me- please.”

Wout wasted no time, cupping Mathieu’s face and devouring his lips in a searing kiss. His tongue pushed inside Mathieu’s mouth, meeting its counterpart there. He picked up the pace, fucking Mathieu hard. Mathieu moaned into the kiss, fingers still tangled in Wout’s hair. He was close, much sooner than he wanted, even though his dick hadn’t been touched at all. Wout hitched his other leg up so he’s practically folded in half, looming over him so Mathieu’s cock was trapped between their torsos, flesh rubbing as he thrusted in and out. His hand went under Mathieu’s chin, squeezing lightly and forcing him to make eye contact. Mathieu’s jaw went slack, and he felt like he’s drowning. He slipped a hand in between them and cupped his cock and balls. That little was too much. He felt his balls draw tight and there was nothing he could do as he came messily, spurting all over the place between them. Wout dropped onto his elbows on either side of his face and kept fucking him for another minute or two, roughly, shoving him against the headboard, before suddenly stilling and trembling, and he pushed into Mathieu a few more times, going impossibly deep. Mathieu winced at the discomfort but he just closed his eyes and hung on to Wout. After a few seconds Wout pulled out slowly and discarded the condom on the nightstand.

“Are you alright?” Wout said apologetically, stroking Mathieu’s hair, and kissing his forehead. Mathieu nodded weakly. He curled into Wout, needing the contact despite himself. Wout held him close, smoothing over his hair, shoulders and back. He kissed him softly.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Wout said, letting go of Mathieu so he could pull the sheets over them. He reached over to turn the light off. Mathieu clung to him once he lay back down, tangling their limbs together. Wout kissed him once more. They fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

The light filtered through the blinds too early in the morning. Mathieu opened his eyes, confused about the unfamiliar setting until he remembered that he’s in a hotel room in America. There was something else unusual, but not unfamiliar... Somebody’s arm was draped across his waist, his body pressed close against his back, warm and solid and comforting.

“Fuck,” he swore, sitting up. Wout sat up too, rubbing his eyes, looking a little disoriented. Mathieu looked at him in the dim light, an indescribable tightness rising from his stomach.

“Fuck,” he swore again, getting out of bed.

“Mathieu-”

“Don’t say anything,” Mathieu snapped, picking up his clothes from the floor and putting them on.

Wout sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He covered his face with his hands.

“This- this is a mistake,” Mathieu said, checking out the blotchy marks peeking out from under his collar in the mirror. He felt (deliciously) sore.

Wout lowered his hands and stared at the specks of dust floating by the window, lit up by the triangle of light coming in between the blinds. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“This country- This weather- It’s messing me up-” Mathieu continued, his voice breaking.

Wout rubbed his temples, and got up. He strode towards Mathieu, who’s alone across the room, looking vulnerable. He wanted to take him into his arms, tell him everything’s going to be okay, there’s a way to move forwards, they’ll figure this out, together. He's had this feeling before. He got about an arm’s length away before he thought better of it. He went to the bathroom instead, picking up his clothes on the way and turning on the shower.

Mathieu backed himself against the wall, watching Wout approach through blurred vision, afraid to think about what he wanted or expected. Here he was, again. He held his breath until they made eye contact. He already regretted what he did in the last few minutes. He said nothing, leaving the rest of this up to Wout. He felt like something broke inside him when Wout’s expression changed minutely. He swallowed hard, tears spilling uncontrollably, when Wout turned away from him _(instead of what?)_, towards the bathroom, for what felt like the final time.

Mathieu left the room when he heard the water running, slamming the door shut on his way out. He looked up at the sky. The sky here seemed to extend forever, cloudless and blue and uninterrupted until the edge of the world. Anything could happen, and there was opportunity to begin everything anew. It’s a beautiful day, and the weather had changed, a hint of autumn in the cooler air. Certainly he just passed some sort of inflection point. Yet, he still felt that sense of self-doubt that’s became familiar in the last few months, whenever he’s not fully focused on something else, like training or racing or another one of his passions. The more he tried to deny his heart’s desires, the more he longed for it, and it crept up at the most inconvenient times. He felt like he’d committed a huge error, but what about and when, he could not say.

**Author's Note:**

> In 2017 Mathieu showed up at the American cyclocross races, and won all of them easily. He then skipped the next year, because. He’s said many times that he thought it’s “too hard” to travel, to which I’m like... well all the American and Canadian racers do the same, and it’s worse for them... Anyways!
> 
> This weekend is the road world championships <3 I will literally die if I come back from the weekend and see that Mathieu is in rainbow stripes _:covers face:_


End file.
